


A God in the Guest Room

by Cat_of_Mischief



Category: Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Consensual Kink, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Enemies to Lovers, Hurt Loki (Marvel), Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Torture, Loki (Marvel) Needs a Hug, M/M, Nightmares, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Protective Tony Stark, Tony Stark Has A Heart
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-03-06
Packaged: 2021-03-14 16:41:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,337
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29670201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cat_of_Mischief/pseuds/Cat_of_Mischief
Summary: No one ever expects a bloody, battered god to drop out of nowhere into the middle of their workshop, but hey, sometimes these things happen.Loki has clearly been through hell in the year since his attack on New York. His sudden appearance and unexpected plea for asylum puts Tony in an awkward position. Certain it's all part of a ruse, Tony locks the god up and keeps him under constant watch, but days pass and all he sees is an injured god, tormented by nightmares. Is it possible Loki is being honest? That would certainly make it easier for Tony to deal with his ridiculous, overwhelming attraction toward his unexpected guest...
Relationships: Loki/Tony Stark
Comments: 8
Kudos: 58





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story takes place after the events of Iron Man 3, but skews off the canon MCU timeline from there a bit, so the events of Thor: Dark World and Captain America: Winter Soldier have not happened. This story is already complete, it's just a matter of me posting the chapters!

It was a dark and stormy night. Well, it was a dark night, at least. Most nights were. It was kind of the nature of the thing. Maybe the stormy part was just in his mind. He’d had the shrapnel removed from his chest only a few weeks ago, and he was coping with New York better than ever, but it still wasn’t great.

So he was in his lab again, tinkering away, with no concept of time. Pepper was traveling for work. She’d be gone for a couple weeks, probably. Tony didn’t even know what she did on those trips, but he knew how much value she put on them. She was running his company. He’d never hold her back.

Still… it was a dark night. Company would be nice.

He could call someone. A friend. A lover. He and Pepper had an open sort of relationship, but neither of them took advantage of the openness very often. She satisfied him, mostly. He satisfied her, more or less. The thought of calling anyone to come keep him company in the middle of the night seemed ridiculous. He shook his head to clear out the annoying thoughts and redoubled his focus on the magnified image on his display. He was fixing DUM-E. Poor little guy had barely survived the bombing of his Malibu home.

Something thudded behind him, like a sack of potatoes dropped on hard floor. Tony spun around to face the noise, his arm catching the pieces of his suit as they reacted and flew to him. Just the arm, though. The rest would be overkill for a little bump in the night, right?

Nothing there.

Nope. Not falling for that shit. Tony pulled the rest of the suit. As it layered itself onto his body, he said, “Jarvis, scan the room.”

The HUD flickered as the mask settled into place, and Jarvis answered.

“An unusual energy reading there, sir.” A digital outline circled the area Jarvis had found unusual. Just a normal old corner of the room. Nothing outstanding.

“Unusual how?”

But before Jarvis could clarify, the air inside the outline shimmered with green light and a person appeared. Maybe it’d be more accurate to say a _body_ appeared, sprawled on the cold tile floor of the lab. Tony’s heart leapt into his throat at the sight of long black hair flung wildly around a pale face. Surely it wasn’t. Surely this was some other person in dark clothes with green and gold accents. It couldn’t be Loki. He was in prison on Asgard. Thor had assured them that the prisons on his home world were inescapable.

The person-who-surely-couldn’t-be-Loki shifted and turned his head towards Tony, eyes closed—and Tony brought both hands up, blasters charged, every weapon at his disposal aimed at the prone body.

Loki’s eyes squeezed shut and then flickered open, like a person struggling to stay conscious. At the sight of Tony, he stopped moving, his entire body locked tense. An uncertain moment passed. Despite everything Loki had done, Tony couldn’t bring himself to kill a man lying on his floor. Especially when that man had blood and bruises on his face. He hadn’t even bruised like that when Hulk had smashed him into the floor.

Finally, Loki spoke. His voice was rough. “I seek asylum.”

Tony barked a laugh. “You came to the wrong place, bucko.”

A pause. “Then I must go,” Loki said. He rolled from his back to his side and strained to get up. His arm shook as he pushed against the floor, but he managed to rise to his feet. He looked like hell, now that Tony saw him standing. The clothes he wore weren’t his usual regal leather garb. They were fabric, a simple tunic and trousers, and they were torn in places. He was barefoot.

“I… don’t think I can let you,” Tony said. Loki was supposed to be in prison on Asgard. If he wasn’t in prison on Asgard, he needed to go back. Or he needed to be in prison on Earth, until Tony could get ahold of Thor. But if Asgardian prison couldn’t hold him, what hope did Earth have to do it?

Either way, Loki didn’t look like much of a threat at the moment.

“Then I surrender,” Loki said with a weak smile. He held both hands up.

Tony frowned. Last time Loki surrendered with hands in the air, it had all been part of his plan to destroy the Avengers from the inside out. This time, it had to be something else. “What’s your play?” Tony asked.

“No play,” Loki said.

Tony looked him over again. Loki didn’t do anything halfway. He and Tony were similar in that regard. The man—Asgardian, frost giant, god, whatever he was—was a showman at heart, a diva, as interested in the outcome as he was in the presentation. The only times Tony had ever been such a mess had been after months of imprisonment and after having his home blown off the face of a cliff. Rock bottom, basically. He’d never present himself in such a state if he didn’t have to. Loki was the same.

“I hate to rush your decision,” Loki said, “but I do have a rather serious injury that’s making it difficult to focus. You have my word I’m not here to do harm, Stark.”

“Jarvis, scan him,” Tony said.

A second later, Jarvis reported back. “He is severely dehydrated, has two broken ribs, a puncture wound in his abdomen, and many partially-healed lacerations on his back, sir.”

A visual of the scan’s results showed on his HUD, overlaying Loki’s actual body, and Tony cringed a bit at the sight. Loki’s back was covered in a lattice of what could only be whiplashes. The puncture wound was likely from a sword or knife. Broken ribs could have come from anything.

“Stark,” Loki prompted. He swayed on his feet and staggered to stay upright.

“All right,” Tony said. Based on Loki’s physical state, his options were either to let Loki stay, or to deal with Loki passing out on his floor—and staying either way. “Walk. This way. Try anything and I’ll blow you to bits.”

“For what it’s worth,” Loki said, “you have my word I’m not trying anything.”

“It’s worth bupkis,” Tony replied. “Go.” He jerked his head toward the door.

Loki went. He kept a hand pressed to his abdomen as he walked, but he managed a decent pace. Tony directed him to the elevator. Once inside, Loki leaned on the wall and closed his eyes, hand still pressed to his abdomen. The fabric of his shirt was dark there, the skin on his hand stained red and brown with blood. His lower lip was split, his face bruised. These were the kinds of injuries that came from a brutal fight, or an uncontested beating. Surely Asgard didn’t do this to their prisoners…?

They zipped down a few levels to the guest rooms, and Tony directed his visitor to one of the doors. Any one of them could be locked down, but this particular one wasn’t lived in much. It had a kitchen, bedroom, full bath, and a living area, with minimal décor. It lacked personality, which was perfect for a makeshift prison.

“In you go,” Tony said, gesturing.

“Am I guest, or a prisoner?” Loki asked, peering into the room.

“Guests are generally invited.”

Loki nodded. “Prisoner, then.” He walked into the room without a fuss, and Tony closed, locked, and sealed the door behind him. It probably wouldn’t actually do any good against an otherworldly sorcerer, but he could dream.

“Keep an eye on him, Jarvis.”

***

Tony returned to his lab, but he couldn’t focus on work. He had a guest/prisoner downstairs who had tried to take over the world and had personally almost killed Tony with his bare hands. Loki could be up to anything. There was no way Tony was going to truly leave him unsupervised in his home.

He pulled up the camera feeds for the guest room. Tony had no idea what he expected to see. Perhaps Loki in his full regalia with that ridiculous helmet, summoning hoards of minions. Loki with that damnable scepter, standing tall and proud, lording over his domain.

Instead, he saw nothing. Either Loki was in the bathroom, or he was invisible… or he was gone.

“Your guest is bathing,” Jarvis informed him when he asked.

“Hm.” Tony propped his chin on his hand and watched the camera feeds for several minutes, hoping something would happen… but also hoping nothing would happen. He didn’t want to get in a fight for his life right now. He’d had enough of that for a long time. If Loki did absolutely nothing suspicious and was genuinely looking for asylum, Tony would be thrilled.

Either way, Fury should probably know. SHIELD had had a lot of interest in Loki during his last visit, and only Thor’s godly status had kept Loki out of their hands. But Thor was nowhere to be found these days.

That gave Tony somewhere to focus his mind. There had to be a way to find Thor. There had to be a way to get a message to him, to let him know his prisoner had escaped. Of course the god of thunder didn’t have a cell phone, but he was a goddamn space-traveling deity. He flew between planets through a fucking wormhole and had a magic hammer. Given the option, Tony would rather get Loki off this planet, which meant contacting Thor.

After about an hour of poring over research, Tony caught movement from the screens displaying Loki’s guest rooms. The trickster was out of the bathroom, a towel wrapped around his waist as he trudged towards the bed. Despite nothing but negative feelings towards the man, Tony cringed at the sight of his battered torso. It could all be an illusion, of course, but if it was, Tony couldn’t figure out the intention behind such a lie. Did Loki know Tony was watching? There was no point in keeping up pretenses if he didn’t know, so… either he assumed he was being watched, or his injuries were real.

The trickster sat on the edge of the bed and stayed there for a while, one hand pressed against the wound on his stomach. It wasn’t bleeding anymore, at least not badly enough to be visible through a surveillance camera, but a stab wound to the gut was nothing to scoff at. It had to hurt.

Eventually, Loki scooted around, rolled onto his side, and lay still.

“Is he asleep?” Tony asked after a while.

“Although I am not well versed in alien anatomy, his heart rate and breathing have slowed,” Jarvis answered. “It would seem he has fallen asleep, sir.”

“Well,” Tony said. “I’ll be damned.”

When he’d woken up that morning, the last thing he’d expected to do by the end of the day was lock a megalomaniacal god into his guest room so the bastard could take a nap.

At least he wasn’t bored anymore.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki slept deeper than he had in a very long time, and when he woke, he woke naturally, alone, in a quiet room—yet still, his body jerked from lying to sitting before his mind realized he was not in immediate danger. The sudden movement, on top of sleep-stiffened muscles and plentiful wounds, blinded Loki with pain for a fraction of a second… but he was alone, and no one took advantage of his momentary weakness. Chest heaving and head spinning as he got himself under control, Loki took in his surroundings, memorizing them in detail just in case.

The room was dimly lit, its large window letting Loki see the city skyline against a hazy purple sky. Was it nightfall, or dawn? How long had he slept? Surely not long, or Stark would have woken him with demands and questions, possibly with all his mighty friends flanking him. He drew deep breaths and relaxed, watching the sky.

Earth had been a convenient target, not long ago. It had been petty spiteful rage—and his manipulator’s interest in the infinity stones—that had led him to this realm the first time. Now, though…

Through the entire battle here, one of the most outstanding moments was his brief exchange with Anthony Stark, the man beneath the iron suit. Stark was mortal. Human. There was nothing special about him compared to the soldier, or the scientist who turned into that damnable Hulk. And yet Stark had come face-to-face with Loki, unarmed, unprotected. Offered him a drink. Joked with him. And with his ingenuity, had survived being flung out the highest window in this tower. It had been a ploy and a desperation move, Loki had realized afterwards, but that didn’t rob the exchange of anything. He still gave Stark immense credit for bravery and class. That, on top of his immediate kinship with the man’s sense of drama, had left an impression on Loki. An impression that had brought Stark to mind in a desperate moment, Loki’s last leap before his exertions became too much to sustain.

It was difficult to guess what Stark would do with him now, though. If he had to, Loki could flee to another world once he’d had some time to recover, but the number of places he was welcome were slim. The number of places he was welcome _and_ where his tormentors would face any opposition if they caught up to him… virtually non-existent. At least Earth had the Avengers. Whether they did it to protect Loki or protect their own skins, they would defend their planet if anything attacked it.

Loki was preying on their sense of heroism to protect himself if the need arose.

The sky was black now. The sun was setting. It had been night when he’d arrived on Earth and it was nightfall now, which meant he’d slept for at least a day. Hard to tell what Tony had gotten up to in that time, but Loki was certain the man had not been idle. Time to get up and determine what he’d gotten himself into by coming here.

The towel had fallen away while he slept, and he didn’t bother gathering it back up when he stood. He had no shame in his body or in his wounds. The bruises and blood were not his fault. They would heal, and no one would _ever_ put him in that position again.

Shaking his head, he returned to the bath. He found small, thin cups in a cabinet and used one to drink cold water from the faucet. The cabinet also had a variety of brushes, combs, and other grooming materials, which Loki gathered up and set at the edge of the bath before climbing in. While the tub filled around him, he examined some of the nearby bottles and eventually selected a sweet-smelling gel to add to the water as it churned around his hips. He would allow himself these indulgences while he could. Humans were humble and shameful about their bodies, if his brief time on Earth told him anything, and he would rely on that to keep Stark from dragging him out and throwing him into an actual prison. He had no doubt he was being watched, perhaps by Stark, perhaps by another.

His first bath had been to clean his wounds. It had been painful and bloody. This time, he allowed himself to relax. For the first time in a year, he could truly breathe.

It took a while to get his shoulders to lower and his muscles unlocked. His stomach reminded him of its existence, but he ignored it. He washed his hair and combed it out until his fingers no longer came away with hints of pink when he touched his scalp. It wouldn’t erase what had happened to him, but the luxury of unhurried, thorough grooming made him feel far more like himself than he had in a long time.

Eventually, hunger got the best of him, and he ended his bath, wrapped himself in a towel, and ventured out into the rest of his prison. The rooms were large. Not well-decorated or showy, but built for comfort, big enough for multiple people to coexist without getting crowded. It honestly surprised him that he’d been put in such generous lodgings. If Tony Stark didn’t have a dungeon somewhere in this immense tower, Loki would be surprised.

The bedroom led out to a large living area, which Loki had walked through last night. It featured a sofa, a low table, chairs, and bookshelves. On the other side of the room, a wide doorway took him into a kitchen with a table for six. The color scheme was dull, all silvers and whites and blacks. Even geniuses had to have a weak area, Loki supposed. Interior design was Stark’s. There wasn’t a single ornament or unnecessary flourish in sight. Very utilitarian. Very boring.

After a thorough inspection of the contents of all cabinets, drawers, and containers, Loki reached the conclusion that there was no food in the kitchen. He’d been foolish to hope that his needs would be provided for without compensation. But this was Earth, and his jailer was not a cruel man. His hunger could be easily remedied—he hoped.

“Stark,” he said loudly, “do you intend to let me starve?”

Within seconds, a light flickered on one broad, empty swath of wall, and an image appeared. A projection, to be more accurate, of Tony Stark, life size and frowning. Loki smiled to himself. He’d known the man was watching. He’d be a fool not to watch Loki’s every move, and Stark was no fool.

“Sorry, you know, you dropped by so suddenly I just didn’t have time to prepare a feast in your honor.” The man’s voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Of course. No need for a feast,” Loki said, playing along. “I’m satisfied by simple fare.”

“You’re not satisfied with anything simple,” Tony replied, rolling his eyes. He moved, and it appeared he was touching empty air—likely something where he was that was not included in this projected image of himself. “What the hell are you doing here, Loki? You know you’re public enemy number one on earth right now. Not to mention how I feel about you personally.”

“I know.”

“You nearly killed me.”

“Nearly.”

“You fucked up my city.”

“I did.”

“You fucked up my tower.”

“Yes.”

“You killed Coulson.”

Loki didn’t know who that was, but it was probably true. He’d killed a lot of people. He wondered how many more things Stark was going to list. “Is this a reading of my transgressions? Does the sentencing come next?”

“Hey, hot shot, you came to me. Don’t give me attitude because I’m not welcoming you with open arms. You’re lucky I didn’t throw you out a window while you were asleep.”

“I could hardly have blamed you if you did,” Loki said.

Stark kept frowning but didn’t have a retort for that.

“Must I beg forgiveness to be given food?” Loki asked after a few silent moments, hands out to his sides. “I am at your mercy, Stark.”

“Right. I’m not happy about it.” He tapped some invisible surface a few more times. “I’m sending someone in with food. Don’t touch them.”

“I wouldn’t dare.”

Stark’s projection disappeared, and Loki walked to the kitchen doorway, curious to see the person that Stark would send into a room with his worst enemy. He leaned a shoulder on the wall, affecting nonchalance for the sake of his image. Internally, he was tense. His stomach ached from hunger, from the stab wound, and from a rude and persistent terror that had settled in nearly a year ago and would likely never leave. And here he was again, mere days after his escape, locked in and at the mercy of someone else. At least this time he’d gotten to choose his jailer.

The living room’s main door opened. Loki, expecting a human to enter, perhaps a human wrapped up in an iron suit, experienced a moment of confusion when the height, shape, and gait of his visitor did not match any of his expectations.

Instead of anything humanoid, what entered the room was a… device, a narrow white cylinder sitting on a platform with four shiny wheels. It rose up to approximately waist height and ended in a domed top.

The device rolled into the room and sent out a spindly arm to shut the door behind it. It whirred softly as it navigated around the furniture, wheeled right past Loki, and stopped in the kitchen. Loki stared in fascination as the little thing sprouted four arms, opened drawers and compartments on its own body, and set the table. Finally, it opened a larger door on its midsection and withdrew two plates of food and a bottle of amber liquid. It arranged them on the table, then closed all of its drawers and compartments. Once its arms retracted, it rolled back past Loki, through the living room, and out the main door, seamless and clean as it had been when it rolled in.

Bemused, Loki turned his attention to the items set out for him. Stark had taken his request for simple fare seriously, but he was generous with amounts and variety. The plates held an array of meats, cheeses, fruits, vegetables, and bread.

“You show great kindness, Stark,” Loki said. For most of his life, Loki had sneered at kindness. He did not trust kind people or kind gestures, he did not need their softness, and he did not have the capacity for it himself. His mother had always assured him that accepting kindness did not make him weak, any more than showing kindness did, and he’d railed against that idea, but… his pride had taken a lot of blows lately, along with his body. Perhaps, for once in his life, he could accept the offerings of a kind hand.

But he wasn’t sure he trusted it.

Would Stark try to poison him? 

Loki seated himself in front of the food and sampled it with caution, allowing his stomach a moment to react to each bite before he took another. While he ate, his mind tumbled around in search of a plan.

Earth was the last place anyone would look for him. That bought him some time to recuperate—assuming, of course, that Stark didn’t throw him out or try to kill him, and that he didn’t call his Avenger buddies to further secure Loki. This—private rooms with a bed and bath and a little wheeled creature to deliver him food—was luxurious, as prisons went. Nicer, even, than the prison he’d been relegated to on Asgard. A few days of rest and food here, and he’d be fully healed.

The food was satisfying, though he could barely put a dent in what was given to him. He ate what he dared, what his famished body could handle, and left the rest as it was. The ornate bottle of amber liquid remained where it had been placed as well, but he planned to come back and sample it later.

Fed, rested, and clean, Loki felt more in control than he had in a long time. Even though he was still, technically, a prisoner. Time to gain some control over his circumstances, as well.

“Have you called your friends yet, Stark?” he asked, looking towards the spot where Tony’s projection had appeared. He put extra sneer into his voice as he added, “Earth’s _mightiest heroes_?”

Stark didn’t respond, so Loki smiled.

“I know you can hear me, and I know you’re afraid of me. You’d be a fool not to fear a god, and you’re no fool.” The words were harder to get out than he expected. It had been a while since he felt particularly godly. Getting embedded in the floor of Stark’s penthouse by a half-naked green monster had been the start. The events since then had only made it worse. He felt like an imposter, like a battered rag doll clinging to shreds of silk to disguise its filth.

The thought frustrated him and drove him to his feet. Stark wasn’t reacting like he’d hoped. Loki paced to the end of the kitchen, with its floor to ceiling glass, and looked out across the city, hands clasped behind his back. It was a sea of darkness and white lights, the windows of buildings illuminated all around, and a haze along the horizon that disguised the stars.

Earth was different from the other realms. Humans had little magic and little belief in it. They put so much value in material possessions, in rising up and achieving more, that they would trample those around them into the ground for an advantage. Asgardians, for all the power and wealth in their world, lived simple lives, unambitious and content to stay where they were, to follow Odin’s lead without question. Perhaps Loki had more in common with humans than he cared to admit.

Loki paced back out into the living area, moving with a deliberate lack of urgency. The living room was the only one he had not explored thoroughly yet. He looped around the outside edge, looking at the scant décor. A dull painting here, a small statue there. The thing that caught his attention most was a single shelf of books against one wall, above a small desk. There were only about a dozen, but Loki took each one down and read the first couple pages. He stacked the books on the small desk in order of how interesting he found them, and then resumed his meandering. The books would be a brief distraction when he needed it more.

When he came to the front of the room and the door he’d entered through, he paused. Stark had said he was an unwelcome guest. Perhaps that translated to prisoner, but Loki had to test the limits of his freedom in this new situation. He grabbed the doorknob and turned. It didn’t move. It was locked. Unsurprising, and oddly satisfying. Loki knew his own personality and penchant for trouble. Stark was taking reasonable precautions. Loki would be surprised if there weren’t traps that would activate if the door was forced. Stark hadn’t expected his arrival, but he’d had an entire day to reinforce security while Loki slept.

He finished his loop around the room, pausing longest to inspect a large, flat black device mounted to the wall in front of the sofa. It failed to hold his interest for long, and he returned to the books. If he couldn’t goad Stark into conversation, he would entertain himself some other way. If he couldn’t gain control of the situation just yet, he would not let Stark see his discomfort.

With the three most interesting books in hand, he returned to bed and lay down to read.


	3. Chapter 3

There was exactly zero percent chance that Tony would be able to sleep while Loki was awake in his home. The Asgardian god had settled into bed with a stack of books and looked harmless—and confusingly sexy—wearing nothing but a towel, reading a copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.

Tony, on the other hand, had barely slept since Loki had arrived, and probably looked like he was tweaking out on something a lot more powerful than caffeine.

“What do you think, Jarvis?” Tony asked, propping his chin in his hand to stare at the screen. “What’s he up to?”

“He appears to be reading a book, sir.”

Tony sighed. “Yeah, but why?”

“Sir, would you like me to call SHIELD?”

“No,” Tony said quickly. There was no hesitation there. He didn’t trust SHIELD as far as he could throw them, and he wouldn’t even hand his worst enemy over to them. Nick Fury was okay, but the organization as a whole? Fishy. For all he knew, they’d take Loki and use him for some experiment, it would backfire, and they’d have a whole ‘nother battle of New York on their hands.

Tony went back to staring at the security feed, chin in hand. He’d been working on a way to communicate with Thor, or Asgard in general, but he hadn’t made it far before changing direction. Loki was in his home. A more effective use of his time would be anti-Loki measures. Weapons or shields or restraints that would work on a god, so the moment Loki decided to drop the other shoe, Tony could lock him down—because Tony had no doubt that a large degree of Loki’s compliance after they’d beat him in New York was willing, and if it had come down to it, he could have broken out of those restraints Thor put him in.

The first thing he discovered about Loki was that his resting body temperature was incredibly low. Like, subzero. Even a corpse wouldn’t be that cold. Yet he remembered from being near Loki, from having Loki’s hand on him ever-so-briefly, that Loki was not a walking popsicle. He didn’t feel inhuman.

Thor had mentioned that Loki was adopted. That was a story he’d love to hear. Maybe it would explain a few things. It would definitely explain the lack of family resemblance. Hair color, eye color, physical build, facial structure, skin tone… they looked nothing alike. Not to mention personality differences—exemplified by the fact that Loki was lying in bed reading a novel, and Thor probably couldn’t even read a child’s picture book.

That wasn’t fair. Thor was _probably_ literate. But it was kind of funny.

Tony shook his head, smiling to himself at the thought of the golden god of thunder struggling to get through Goodnight Moon.

His attention returned to the security screen as Loki moved from his placid reading position. He got up, set the novel face-down and open on the bed to hold his place, and stood by the bed with his hands clenched into fists. Tony sat up straighter, ready to leap into armor and throw down. Even though Loki was naked.

And then a shimmer ran across Loki’s body, like the green light that had crept away to reveal him lying on the ground the previous day. Magic. This time, though, the magic shimmer left fabric in its wake. Dark green, soft-looking pants and a long-sleeve black tunic. Loki swept the towel away from his hips and threw it towards the bathroom door, pushed the covers down on the bed, and slid underneath them. He picked up the book again and continued reading.

Tony stared at the screen a while longer. Had his megalomaniacal house guest just put on his jammies and crawled into bed with a book? That was unsettlingly human. So innocent. He guessed even gods needed hobbies.

More than likely, though, this was all a game to make himself seem harmless and approachable. Tony had to remind himself of that and resist the urge to hit the intercom and talk to his guest, joke about his comfy pajamas or choice of reading material. No, the best thing he could do was stay quiet, watch, and work on his Loki lockdown procedures.

And eventually, when Loki fell asleep nestled on one side of the king bed with his stack of books on the other, Tony could drag his own tired ass up to bed.

“Wake me up if he does anything,” he told Jarvis.

“Anything other than sleep, sir?”

“You know what I mean.” Tony didn’t put on cozy pajamas and crawl into bed. He stripped down to boxers and flopped into the tangled mess of blankets on top of his mattress. His hand went to his chest and he ran a finger over the scars there. He no longer had shrapnel in his chest or a magnetized energy core keeping it in place. Instead he had scars and silicone, artificial flesh and bone to make his chest look mostly normal.

The nightmares were less frequent since the surgery, too. He’d started seeing a therapist, taking medication for the anxiety attacks. Getting his shit together. And when the nightmares happened, he was able to shake them off more easily than he used to. Pepper helped, too. She wasn’t here now, but when she was, she helped. He could have had someone else there with him while she was out of town—they’d negotiated some confusing waters around their personal needs, and Pepper was strong and generous enough to suggest that Tony have company even when she was out of town. Company that slept in bed with him to help him through the nightmares when they came.

Tony had not run with that idea. Yet. This was the first extended trip she’d taken since his surgery, and now that he had a god in his guest room, he wasn’t willing to call a single soul to keep him company, platonic or otherwise.

Exhaustion caught up to him quickly and he passed out in minutes.

Only to wake up to Jarvis’ voice what felt like seconds later.

“Sir, you asked me to wake you up if Loki did anything.”

Tony jolted upright. “Yeah. What? What’s he doing?” He stumbled out of bed, already calling the armor to him as Jarvis pulled up the security footage from the guest bedroom.

Loki was still in bed. That wasn’t what Tony had expected.

“What is that? Is that an illusion? Is the real Loki somewhere else?”

“No, sir, according to my sensors, that’s the real Loki.”

“Then what—” But before he could finish the sentence, he saw what Jarvis was showing him. Loki’s hands were clenched into tight fists. Sweat drenched his brow, his long hair stuck to his forehead. He jerked in his sleep, gasping. Rolled over, jerked again, and a little shout escaped him.

Tony stood by his own bed, his suit wrapped around him except for the helmet, and watched Loki have a nightmare. A bad one, by the looks of it. It went on for a long time, and Tony could only watch, until finally Loki broke through and sat upright with a cry of pain and anguish that was so familiar to Tony, it made his chest tight in sympathy.

It was fake, he told himself. That’s what Loki wanted. Sympathy. It was an act.

But as Loki wiped tears away with the back of a shaky hand, Tony’s conviction trembled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The line about Tony having artificial flesh and bone--I honestly am not 100% sure what the surgery at the end of Iron Man 3 entailed, I don't think it was ever explained or that his bare chest was ever shown again in MCU after that, so that's my guess.


	4. Chapter 4

Nightmares. Just nightmares. He was safe in Stark’s home. Well, as safe as he could be on this planet.

He hoped he had not made too much of a fool of himself in his sleep, for he had no doubt Stark would know. The last thing he needed was for Stark to realize he was weakened, damaged, scarred. That he would stay here as long as Stark let him, because he did not have the strength of will to go elsewhere just yet.

Loki got up and went to the bathroom to undress, to let his sweat-drenched clothes dry while he rinsed his body under hot water. He’d bathed more in the past couple days than he had in months, but he couldn’t seem to shake the dirty feeling.

After the bath, he returned to bed—the other side, to let the nightmare side dry—and got back to sleep after some more reading…

Only to wake with a scream on his lips sometime later.

Dawn was breaking. He watched the sun rise from the kitchen window, the sky change from deep purple to pink and orange and finally, bright blue. It was beautiful, and he couldn’t quite tear his eyes away from it. The sky where he’d been before, what little he could see of that sky anyway, had never been so blue. It was hazy and gray, sickly yellow-green at best.

“Need anything?”

Loki spun around quickly to face Stark—or the image of Stark, anyway.

“Clothes, maybe?” Tony said.

Loki had gone back to the towel around his hips, and at the reminder of human humility, he managed a small smile. “Does bare skin offend you, Stark?”

“I’ll send in some clothes. You good on food? Want anything fresh?”

The man seemed unconcerned with Loki’s answers, like asking after Loki’s wellbeing was a tedious chore. Perhaps it was. Loki _had_ come uninvited, after all.

“Tea,” Loki said after a moment.

“Tea,” Tony echoed. “Got it. Clothes and tea. I’ll send Abby in later.”

And _bzzt_ , he was gone. Loki wondered who Abby was, but didn’t dwell on it. The sky helped to erase the grimy darkness from his mind, and it was all he wanted to focus on for now.

Apparently, it was all he wanted to focus on for a very long time. His stomach eventually reminded him to eat. Stark’s robot servant came in while he was picking through the food brought to him yesterday. It rolled up next to Loki, opened a compartment in its body, and used its spindly silver arms to unpack the contents onto the table. It stacked several boxes neatly on top of each other, closed the compartment, and then opened another one in its midsection. This time, it withdrew a stack of neatly folded cloth and held it out to him in both its clasp-like hands. Loki took it, bemused. The little robot withdrew its arms and rolled away.

“Do you have robots do everything for you?” Loki asked, looking towards the place where Stark’s projection had appeared both times. After a moment without response, Loki rolled his eyes and set the clothing aside in favor of opening the boxes. Each was labeled with ornate text declaring it as either black tea, herbal tea, or green tea.

Tea was comforting. It was warm. Jotun blood or not, Loki preferred warmth.

He made a cup, added sugar from a jar on the counter, and finally returned to the book he’d started last night. It was an odd book, certainly not historical or factual in any way, but it had a certain humor to it that Loki liked. Most importantly, it kept him distracted from the contents of his own mind. He curled up on the couch with a blanket and his tea and his books, and he read.

When night came and sleepiness tugged at his eyes, he fought it as long as he could without going to extremes. It was late when he finally ventured to bed. His pajamas were dry after last night’s nightmares, and he pulled them on before collapsing against the pillows and closing his eyes.


	5. Chapter 5

Loki didn’t sleep through the night, so neither did Tony. The god woke with a scream after only an hour or so. He got out of bed and made a cup of tea. Black tea. Tony wondered if gods were affected by caffeine.

Either way, Loki didn’t go back to sleep. He stayed up and read, and Tony stayed up and worked. The little bit of magic Loki had used to arrive here and to summon clothing from wherever he summoned it from, had given Tony a bit of data to work with to understand magic. He’d love to have more, but he couldn’t very well ask his guest to put on a show for him.

Pepper called him in the morning, and he was grateful for the interaction.

“What have you been up to?” she asked. “Things seem quiet on the Avengers front.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, eyes locked on the security feed as Loki stirred way too much sugar into a mug of tea. “Very quiet.”

“I think that’s for the best,” Pepper said. “You need a break.”

Tony yawned. He was running on espresso and determination. “I really do.”

They both paused, then Pepper asked, “Have you been alone the whole time I’ve been gone?”

“Not the whole time,” Tony replied honestly. He knew how she’d interpret it, and it couldn’t be further from the truth, but she would probably worry less if she thought he’d had some company. And technically, he did have company. Company he only spoke to with several dozen locked doors between them, but at least he wasn’t dwelling in his own mind.

“Good,” Pepper said. “I’m sorry to be away for so long like this, but—”

“I know,” Tony said. “I know, Pep. Don’t worry about it. I’ve got everything under control here.”

***

Loki didn’t sleep that night, so Tony didn’t sleep either. The god didn’t even feign an attempt. He drank tea and read books on the couch. He’d ignored the clothes Tony had given him in favor of his own magically summoned pajamas.

Tony had run out of productive energy a while ago, and was nodding off at his work bench, chin in hand. Loki didn’t seem to be struggling with the lack of sleep. He was placid and calm, the picture of tranquility curled up on the couch with a book. It seemed so wrong. But then again, Hannibal Lecter liked to draw and listen to symphonies when he wasn’t eating peoples’ livers, so Tony couldn’t let his guest’s peaceful guise trick him.

He thought about the state Loki had been in when he arrived a couple days ago. The tattered clothes, the blood and filth. The whiplashes across his back. Tony didn’t know a lot about the legends of Asgard, but he did know they were pretty morbid. All those old religions were. And no matter what Loki had done, Tony didn’t approve of torture. He’d been through it himself once and he would never inflict it on anyone else. But Asgard must not have those qualms. Tony couldn’t blame his guest for breaking out and fleeing. And having nightmares.

Assuming all of it was real. Perhaps Loki was playing on Tony’s sense of sympathy, trying to paint Thor in a bad light and turn Earth against Asgard. He left Earth with a muzzle on his face and chains on his wrists, only to return months later, beaten bloody and barely conscious.

Suddenly it made sense. That had to be his ploy.

Tony wanted to hit the intercom and tell Loki that his plan wouldn’t work, that his trickery wouldn’t turn Earth against a powerful ally. Loki deserved punishment for what he did, and Asgard was his home. They knew how to handle him better than Tony did.

Right?

Tony shook his head. He was tired. He couldn’t think straight. Reluctantly, he moved from his work bench to the couch in the corner of the lab, shedding his jeans and grabbing a blanket from the pile at one end of the couch.

“Wake me up if anything happens,” Tony told Jarvis. “And if nothing happens, wake me up in two hours anyway.”

“Yes sir.”

Tony fell asleep immediately.

He had nightmares of his own. Nightmares about his time as a hostage in a desert cave, but this time instead of middle eastern men aiming guns at him, it was a battalion of Chitauri soldiers with their eerie insectoid faces and many-fingered hands. They came into the cave by the dozens, the hundreds, and no matter how many he killed, they kept coming, until they were climbing over the corpses of their fallen comrades, cornering him in the back of the cave, walling him in until he couldn’t breathe…

And he woke, gasping, into a room bathed in sunlight. He groaned.

“What time is it?”

“Eleven thirty-two, sir,” Jarvis said.

“I told you to wake me up in two hours!” Tony grabbed his jeans from the floor and got up, dancing into them as he crossed the room to his work bench.

“I tried, sir. Short of physical interference, it seemed impossible. Our guest has not done anything worth note, so I let you sleep.”

“Did _he_ sleep?”

“No, sir.”

Tony grumbled. The security feed of his guest’s rooms was still displayed. Loki was in the kitchen with a mug of tea. The spread of food on the table—which really should have been refrigerated at some point, but maybe Asgard didn’t believe in that—was dwindling. Tony hit the button to project himself into Loki’s rooms. The dark-haired man looked up. There was a subtle change in his features, so quick Tony couldn’t parse what they had changed _from_ , but the expression on Loki’s face now was one of his smug, amused ones.

“Need anything?” Tony asked.

“No,” Loki replied.

Tony shrugged. “All right. Yell if you change your mind.” He reached for the button to turn off the projection.

“Wait,” Loki said. It wasn’t a plea—it was a command.

Tony looked up, finger hovering over the off switch, and raised his eyebrows in question.

For a moment, Loki said nothing. Then he got up and walked around the table to stand closer to Tony’s image. Tony straightened. They’d been inches apart before, and it had been terrifying… but also familiar. Because he knew Loki’s type. It was not far off from Tony in some ways. Loki had chosen Stark Tower for the battle of New York because it was a power source, but also because it was showy. Of course it was—Tony had been directly involved in the design. If Loki could have a tower with his own name on it, he would. It would be gaudy and golden with a statue of himself at the top.

Standing toe-to-toe with Loki was not scary this time because they were actually separated by half a dozen floors, but also because Tony knew how to push his buttons. And how not to. But he wasn’t as good at that.

“I know about Earth’s defenses,” Loki said. “At least, before I came here the first time. They’re rather pathetic. But you, Stark, are far above average. What have you, personally, done to keep your planet safe, since… me?”

The question caught Tony off-guard because it was so straightforward. Not at all Loki’s usual style.

“That’s the kind of question a terrorist might ask of a prisoner during interrogation,” Tony said. “Our roles are a little backwards here for that to work. I’m not answering. Next?”

Loki scoffed. “Speaking of interrogation, why haven’t you strapped me down and asked me questions yet? Where’s your soldier friend, or the clever woman? I’m sure either would have the stomach for it, if you do not.”

“Do you _want_ to be interrogated?” Tony asked, brows drawn together. “You keep asking about my friends. I can call them, if you want. I’ll get the whole team in here.” He grabbed his phone off the desk and picked Steve from his contacts, held the screen up so Loki could see. Loki’s eyes went to the phone, then back up to Tony’s face. Their eyes met. He was so goddamn hard to read! Did he want Tony to call? Was he _afraid_? Tony decided to play another card and see what happened.

“Let me make some assumptions here,” Tony said. “If I assume that you’re telling the truth, that you want asylum, then you being here makes no sense. Earth will deport you straight back to Asgard at the first opportunity. So, I assume you’re lying. You’ve got a plot or a ploy or a game or a trick, and everything you do and say is to maneuver me towards your goal. You’re here for revenge or for Earth Domination Take Two or something along those lines, and I’m here to tell you it ain’t gonna happen.” He cleared his phone screen and tossed it back on his table.

Loki’s face stayed passive for the entirety of Tony’s speech. When Tony was done, the other man nodded. “As I’ve said before, you’re no fool.” He paced around to the other side of the table and sat down again. He sipped his tea. “I need nothing further today, Stark. You may go.”

The dismissal irked Tony, but he knew better than to rise to it. He ended the projection and went down the hall to the kitchen to find breakfast. As he cracked eggs into a skillet, he thought about Loki. It had made so much sense to him last night, but as he delivered his monologue, things rose up in his head that didn’t quite fit the mold. Loki’s nightmares. His avoidance of sleep. His lack of appetite—he’d been nibbling on crackers and fruit for three days.

All of those things fit another mold much better. A mold Tony fit in himself.

It wasn’t impossible. Unlikely, but not impossible.

He threw a couple more eggs in the skillet and tossed bacon in another one. Toast, that seemed good. Butter. He loaded it all on a tray, rode the elevator several levels, and walked down a long hallway before he could second guess himself. A-B, or Abby, the automated butler, was waiting by Loki’s door. Tony handed her the tray and sent her in—and followed behind her.

As she rolled into the kitchen, Loki muttered, “I said I didn’t need anything.”

“My treat,” Tony said, walking in behind his little helper.

Loki looked up, eyes first turning to the place Tony had been projecting himself, but then jerking over to where Tony actually stood. The god went very still. Both hands were on the table, resting around his mug, and Tony was glad of that. He was also glad to see surprise on Loki’s face for the briefest moment before he got control of it and smiled that smug smile instead.

“Stark.”

“Loki.”

“What have I done to warrant a visit like this?”

Tony shrugged and leaned a shoulder against the doorjamb. “Nothing. I’m curious.”

Loki’s smile widened. “Can I offer you a cup of tea? You’ve given me quite a variety.”

“I’ll pass.”

Abby set one plate in front of Loki, and the other at the empty spot across from him. She fetched silverware from a drawer and set it out for each of them. Loki watched, his smile dying some as he looked at the generous portions of food set in front of him.

Tony pushed off the wall, pulled out the chair, spun it around, and sat with his chest against the back. It made it a little awkward to eat, but it’d be easier to leap out of it if the need arose.

“I cooked this all myself,” Tony said. “I can count on one hand the number of people I’ve made breakfast for, so consider yourself lucky.”

“I’m honored,” Loki said. “Though I did tell you I didn’t want anything.”

“Maybe you were just being polite.” Tony picked up his fork and cut into one of the eggs. Golden yolk spilled out. Perfect. He soaked it up with toast and took a bite.

Loki watched him.

“It’s not poisoned,” Tony said as he chewed. “Want to switch plates?”

“No,” Loki said. “Poison is not your style.” He picked up his own fork and knife and slid one of the fried eggs on top of a slice of toast before cutting into them together.

Tony laughed. “People say poison is a woman’s weapon. Never could figure out why. We use poison in war. Biological weapons. Chemical weapons. I guess if you’re going to kill hundreds or thousands at a time, that makes it more manly.”

“People are fools,” Loki said. He took a dainty bite of food off his fork.

“That’s very true,” Tony replied. “I still wouldn’t poison them.”

Loki swallowed and said in his soft, pleasant accent, “I would. Though a knife is equally as effective and much more satisfying to use.”

“Well I’m glad we had that pleasant discussion.”

They ate together quietly for a few minutes. Tony shoveled his food in so fast, he barely chewed. Loki ate much more slowly and watched Tony in between each bite. The purposeless spontaneity of Tony’s breakfast visit had clearly thrown him off, which was exactly what Tony had been hoping for. When he finished eating, he gave his plate back to Abby and she stashed it in a compartment.

“This is Abby, by the way,” Tony said, gesturing to the little cylinder with arms. “If you need clothes washed or whatever, give them to her. She knows her name. Just talk to her.”

Loki looked at the little robot, then at Tony. “Is it alive?”

“In a way.”

The god stared at Abby, then looked back to Tony. “Intriguing. Your realm has no magic, but you manage well without it.”

“Magic is just science we don’t understand yet.”

Loki snorted. “Magic is magic, Stark.”

“All right,” Tony said. “A square is a square, but it’s also a rectangle. A rectangle, though, isn’t always a square.”

“I don’t follow.”

“Just because magic is magic doesn’t mean it can’t also be science.”

Loki’s expression of confusion was so profound, Tony laughed. Keeping the god off-balance was fun.

His eyes flitted down to Loki’s plate. Loki had eaten half a piece of toast with half a fried egg on it. Maybe one piece of bacon.

“You done?” Tony asked, gesturing.

Loki looked at it, then up at Tony without turning his head, and the expression was so like a bashful puppy it was almost disarming. Damn, he was good.

“Yes,” Loki said.

Tony reached across the table and scooped up the plate, gave it to Abby, and stood. “You know how to get ahold of me if you need me.”

“You are an attentive jailer, Stark. Surely you have more important things to do with your days than be at my beck and call.”

“Are you complaining about having me at your beck and call?” Tony asked, and regretted the words as soon as he said them. He wasn’t Loki’s servant. He wouldn’t drop everything to cater to the god. He added, “If it would make you feel better, I can ignore you.”

Loki scoffed. “You cannot.”

“You act like you know me so well.”

“I’m your enemy, Stark. Unless I am rendered fully helpless, you will keep me under watch and under guard. And if you aren’t going to call the soldier or the spy to help, then you will watch me and guard me yourself.”

That was all true. If Loki knew he was under 24/7 surveillance, then even the nightmares could be an act, but Tony was feeling less and less like that was the case. He was giving Loki every opportunity to attack, and the god hadn’t moved from his chair. In fact, he had moved very carefully the entire time Tony was there with him, not raising his voice or speaking a sharp word, using knife and fork like a proper gentleman and eating slowly.

“You’re right,” Tony said. He crossed his arms. “You seem pretty calm about that.”

“I have nothing to hide, Stark. You may watch me as you please.”

“Ah. Right. That’s a lie if I’ve ever heard one.” He made his way to the kitchen doorway in a sort of sideways backwards shuffle which probably looked extremely casual and smooth. “I’m outta here. Yell if you need something, Tricks.”

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait to get out of the room. Loki’s calm was eerie, and his eyes were so intense it felt like he could see Tony’s thoughts. Maybe he could. He was wizard after all. Or a sorcerer. Mage. Witch? Something like that. Mind reading was probably in his wheelhouse.

Once he was back in the hall, Tony leaned on the wall and took a deep breath. That had been… idiotic, and dangerous, and… thrilling. Going face-to-face with enemies wasn’t something unusual in Tony’s life. Even before he was Iron Man, he was Business Man, rubbing elbows with people he wanted nothing to do with, and he always got a twist of fun out of playing them. Especially if they thought they were playing _him_.

After his heart returned to a normal pace, Tony headed back to the lab to continue watching.


End file.
